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If Sharra had arrived at the wrath demon's room five minutes earlier, he might have heard the loud crash of something heavy hitting the door before he even had a chance to knock. As it turned out, things didn't quite happen that way. Instead, the nergal might have heard some muffled cursing in response to his tapping, followed by some not so muffled cursing, followed by an abrupt silence.

West turned his head sharply toward the door, ceasing his frenzied search through the pile of clothing resting on the back of his desk chair. He glared at the dented slab of wood, curious as to who might be voluntarily knocking on it. Savior was out doing whatever it was that Marrowstripes did when they weren't in his room and he really wasn't expecting anyone else...

Wait.

Sharra had asked to talk to him on Groanspring a while back. Well, if it was the nergal, West supposed he could take some time out of his busy room-trashing schedule to... talk.

Half a minute after the other demon had knocked, West yanked open the door, somewhat pleased to see that he had figured out who it was before answering.

"C'min," he said, kicking at a few expensive-looking pens that were scattered across Sharra's path. West's room was fairly clean, save for small piles of clothing on the bed and the chair. Oh, and the sand. A gritty layer of the stuff coated the hardwood floor and further examination of the trash can would reveal several cups there as well.

He closed the door behind the boil and shuffled back into the main room, taking a seat in a sort of recently put together lounge area near the desk. "Yeah. So?"

West took the quip about the state of his room in stride, his only reaction a very slight smirk and a shake of his head. There were quite a few personal matters he was extremely reluctant to get into with others, as usual, and the fact that some addled monster ghoul had taken to spending the majority of her nights in his room was definitely one of them.

He stayed quiet, only listening to the first couple of words out of Sharra's mouth before jumping to all sorts of whine-based conclusions. West had gathered that there were a lot of Amityville students who had been severely affected by the things that had happened to them on that island. A handful of them had even shared their trauma with him, for whatever reason. It seemed Sharra was here to do the same. He wondered, not for the first time, whether he should have come out more scarred by the whole ordeal. Was some vital part of him that feared death and felt compassion for his fellow demon missing? Had his Christmas-Town-fueled assumption that everything would turn out all right in the end been too optimistic? Was he suppressing his real feelings about the whole thing? West rolled his eyes. He doubted it. He opened his mouth to interrupt, to tell Sharra to stop being such a sobby wimp, but then he heard...

The nergal wasn't laying a pile of woe on him. He was positively teeming with rage. West sat up straighter, eyes bright, his expression mildly predatory.

"'t's'not s**t, s'great," he replied, digging his fingers into the arm of the chair. "Anyone who tells'ya'ts'not doesn't knowhatit's like t'be alive." The wrath demon seemed to catch himself and he tried to nonchalantly slide back into a slump, but it didn't particularly work.

"Jus'go kick some nerd kid's a** if'yer worried 'bout takin'it out on'er," West muttered. "Annif tha'doesn't work, do it some more." That's what he was planning on doing once Sharra stopped bitching and left.